Green Is Not A Sexy Color On You
by afullmargin
Summary: Explicit. M/M. Michael, down with a cold, goads Sam into some get-well sex that goes about as well as expected.


**Rating**: Explicit

**Notes**: Written for Bad Sex Fic Fest 2013

**Prompt**: Character A is unwell. Nothing dramatic (sniffles, coughing, sore knee), but it gets in the way of their usual evening activities with Character B

**Warnings**: Sick!Fic

**Disclaimer**: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly repost or redistribute without letting me know first. Transformative or derivative works welcome, but drop me a note about it!

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It's sort of their thing, nobody really knows how it started but somehow every other Sunday turned into beers and burgers and a little bit of comfortable sex. They managed it through the heat of the summer in the damp loft, through Fiona's frustrated declaration that it would just become 'her night out' when Sam showed up regularly, and even through the occasional bullet or knife wound.

Michael was determined not to let a little early-summer cold stop the routine. Not after the week they'd had – they needed it.

"You sure you're up for tonight, Mikey?" Sam asked, handing him another beer as he blew his nose into a wad of tissue before dropping it into the trashcan by the bed.

"I'm fine," Michael sniffed, wiping his sweaty brow with a bare forearm. His voice was starting to go and each stifled cough made it a little more ragged.

Sam frowned, reaching across his friend to dump the remains of his dinner on top of the pile of pink and green. "I dunno… I mean, I'm pretty sure I should wear a haz-mat suit or something for this."

"I'm not contagious anymore." Michael rolled his eyes, leaning back against the pillows after a long tug at his beer. "Chances are you're probably gonna get it anyway, we were both cooped up in that van all week."

He'd secretly hoped that the tickle in the back of his throat and mild headache was from Madeline's smokes earlier that day when he explained to her that Michael didn't have the plague and he was going to be just fine… after all, Doctor Axe was on the job (take two beers and call me in the evening). Still, Sam was a little wary of his condition. "You do realize that green is not a sexy color on you."

Michael mirrored Sam's frown until he smiled again – the same half-smile that meant Michael had already won the silent disagreement. "We still managed after you got shot."

"Hey, that was different… that was the magical healing powers of sex at work." Sam retorted, eating his words when Michael raised an eyebrow. "Alright… fine. Healing sex it is. Just don't say I told you so when you're nursing me back to health next week."

"I think we can both handle a little cold." Michael sniffed, still managing to look authoritative as he wiped his nose with another pink tissue. "Just keep it simple."

"Simple…" Sam echoed, peeling off his undershirt and rolling onto his side – belly pressed against Michael's bare hip. He really wanted to help him feel better, and if a little slice of the oldest cure in the book was what it took then he was more or less up for it. Not that he wouldn't be really up for it when he got into the heat of the moment. His fingers traced the familiar hardness of Michael's chest – tracing the map of muscles and old scars he'd grown used to over the years until he circled his navel, teasing the tips of his fingers over the sensitive skin.

Michael laughed, pulling away from the tickle – a rare occasion he let his ticklish spot be found – and then coughed into his elbow.

Sam's hand rested on his inner thigh, squeezing gently. "Are you really sure about this?"

With a low growl, Michael grabbed him by the wrist and guided the wide palm onto his partially hard cock, forcing his fingers closed around it. "I'm sure."

"Sure, you're sure…" Sam sighed, stroking gently until Michael's hand relocated to the nape of his neck – tugging gently at the salt-and-pepper hair. "Mmm… god you know the spot…" he groaned, letting himself rub just a little harder, driving his thumb up the underside of Michael's hardness.

Michael liked it hard and as rough as Sam would give, which wasn't saying much most nights. For all his toughness in the field, everyone knew Sam Axe was a lover, not a fighter. He preferred to take his time and work up to the good stuff. But, the cold had left him tired and cranky and he wasn't really going for tenderness. "Please?" He whispered, steely eyes locking on Sam's when he looked up.

Sam knew what he wanted, of course, the same thing he always wanted. "Mikey…" he sighed again, letting his grip slacken for several long moments before dropping down to tentatively caress the cleft of his ass. "I don't know…"

"I know." Michael smiled, grabbing the half-empty bottle of lube from where it had gravitated under his sweaty pillow. "Come on… you know you want to."

"I didn't say I didn't want to…"Sam pulled away and shifted his weight onto his knees between Michael's spread thighs, letting him help unbuckle his belt and tug open his fly before pushing down the few layers between them. Meeting skin against skin as he braced both hands near Michael's shoulders, Sam let out a soft groan that gave him away. It wasn't his fault he was sucker for those eyes – when he wanted something, Mikey knew just how to make sure he got it.

Closing his eyes, Michael held back another wet cough and forced himself to focus on the sensation of Sam's practiced hands spreading him open – gently rubbing slick fingers against him and then pushing inside him. "Yeah…" he rasped, biting into his lower lip as he bucked his hips to press them even deeper.

"Jesus Mike…" Sam moaned, fighting back the quick urge to arousal with that low approval. "How do you even do that?"

"Magic?" He grinned almost innocently, moaning when thick fingers were replaced by the gentle tease of the tip of Sam's cock against him. "C'mon Sam…" he licked his lips, eyeing him with look halfway between lust and exhaustion; "fuck me."

"Damn you…" Sam shook his head, smiling anyway because Damn Michael Westen and his ability to get his way no matter what. "I'm not kissing you."

"Didn't ask for kisses…" he murmured in return, pushing back until Sam gave in and forced him back down against the mattress – filling him slow and easy, not quite hard yet but close enough to make it work. "Harder."

"Don't tell me how to do my job." Sam leered down at him, brushing a kiss to his warm temple anyway as he offered gentle, short thrusts against him.

Covering his mouth with his forearm, Michael couldn't hide another rough cough but insisted on lifting his hips to meet Sam's – opening his eyes to watch the intense concentration on his partner's face and the fine beads of sweat on his brow as he got into the act. "Don't stop…"

"Just getting started, baby…" Sam murmured; "Nothing stops the love machine." Suddenly, violently, Michael sneezed – too caught up in the moment to catch it before an ungraceful spray of mucus caught Sam in the face. "Except that…" He groaned loudly, pushing up to grab for a tissue to wipe his face. "Yeah… I'm done…"

"Oh come on! You're gonna let a few germs stop you?" Michael protested, offering his best pout.

"While I can appreciate your spirit, I'm gonna give this one a pass." Sam shook his head, wiping away the ick before fully withdrawing. "I'm gonna hose myself off and then go get the NyQuil. We better both sleep this one off."


End file.
